What Jealousy teaches
by Asplenium
Summary: My take on Anne's emotions in episode 1x07 "A rebellious woman". Anne discovers a new side of herself when uninvited feelings strike her, and she realizes that her heart and soul are now much fuller of uncontrollable emotions when it comes to a certain Musketeer; how she comes to terms with such realisation and how she reacts to it. All from Anne's POV.
1. Chapter 1-2

**What Jealousy teaches us**

 ** _La jalousie seule m'a fait sentir que j'étais amoureux_**

 **Madame de Lafayette (Zaïde)**

 _ **This is how I imagine a Queen, who has tried, during her entire life to act with and convey an image of poise, control and wisdom suddenly discovers that her heart and soul are now much fuller of uncontrollable emotions when it comes to a certain Musketeer; how she comes to terms with such realisation, and how she reacts to it. And without her knowing, making one more step towards an unavoidable moment in the future, as jealousy, truly, is sometimes the feeling that make us realise that we are falling in love or simply already love someone. It's all Anne's of Austria POV.**_

 **I don't own any of the characters of this fic. Spoilers of season 1x07.**

 **1\. Prologue : Emotions don't discriminate**

Could there be a worst moment to discover that she was not better than anyone? That her heart, indeed, was ruled by sheer, raw emotions, like anyone else? Is there ever an appropriate moment to understand that certain emotions cannot be controlled, that those emotions will simply swept us from within, from below, and that there are no moral teachings, religious education that will stop those emotions to rise, and that it doesn't matter that you are of royal blood or a simple servant? That we are all made equal when it comes to the matter of the heart.

Queen or not, when she saw it, on the Comtesse's chest, that sudden squeeze in the middle of her chest felt almost like a blow. It hurt. It made her heart almost stop and yes she believed it happened in the worst of the moments and places, when the jury was pronouncing Comtesse Ninon de Laroque guilty of witchcraft and alliance with Satan. Yet, amidst the tragedy unfolding around her, she could not think about anything else than how could that object have ended there, pending a little bit lower than the Comtesse's heart.

Behind all those inner and righteous walls of moral built during her entire life, walls made of concepts, principles to act upon, Anne felt all of the sudden that such construction suddenly cracked, there, in the middle of a room full of people, whilst she was standing and acting in her authority of Queen of France. The determination that had guided her to step up for Ninon, for an important cause, suddenly stumbled and crumbled on something so little and low as a feeling of betrayal at the sight of a cross. Of all objects.

 **2\. Kindred women step up for each other**

She had nothing but sympathy for the Comtesse Ninon de Laroque. Despite the fact that helping the girls to get away from their families had been very hazardous, when Anne had learned that Ninon had been arrested and would be trialled in urgence and far away from the public, under the charge of witchcraft, she felt shocked. There was nothing in this trial that she could agree with. Even Louis was not particularly pleased by the affair; Louis liked the Comtesse, appreciative of female beauty and wits as he was, even when she would not entirely respect his royal authority. Yet there had been very little to do to stop it. Richelieu, loyal only to his viperous nature had manoeuvred very well against the Comtesse. The Cardinal did not like to be questioned. For sure, the way Ninon had snapped at him the other day, telling him not to be _ridiculous_ , with such authority and certainty, even superiority, that, she was sure had probably angered the Cardinal substantially. Anne's intuition however was already putting in the frame Ninon's wealth amongst the Cardinal's motives. Ninon had trespassed that invisible line that would make the Cardinal act implacably against those he considered pawns in his games and vendettas.

Anne was certainly less straightforward: dropping apparently neutral questions such as " _you don't favor women's education_?" was her way of discretely underlining the First Minister's hardness and despiteful nature. She had been educated to show tact and respect to authority, to be as courteous and diplomatic as possible in all circumstances, that later quality the Comtesse, who was so fiercely independent, did not seem to have much interest about. Anne could not deny, she envied Ninon in so many ways. The way she entered the room in the Palace earlier that week, without permission or announcement, demanding answers to both the King and his First Minister about the death of one of her protégées, looking both of them straight in the eyes, with no fear or any indication that she felt to be anything less than the most powerful men of the entire kingdom. And the way she just dismissed Louis's request of company, not even her would do it in such a blunt way. She was smiling inside at the question of her vain husband asking if it was " _allowed_?".

Somehow, now she was regretting not to have spent more time with Ninon. Whatever her sort, she would not have the occasion in the future to befriend her. She would write to her, at least, if her life was spared. The two women have never been more than distant acquaintances at Court, but she had always enjoyed talking with in a few occasions. Her challenging range of ideas brought an air of freshness to the Court, made most women smile and most men frown; many would of course use the word rebellion. The tall and blonde woman of noble allure and birth was a free spirit, a woman she could relate to, if only in her heart and mind. She was aware that it did not show that much in her present life, since Louis XIII rarely took her opinion into account for important matters regarding France, nor did he truly seek her opinion. Anne knew her place, and it was not her ways to unsettle openly the established order. Still, in private, Anne found ways to modestly voice her concerns and preferences, always formulated as suggestions so if Louis would follow any of them, it would always seem that it had been his idea. She had learnt very quickly not to oppose Louis directly, nor to criticize the Cardinal's positions, which Louis estimated above all others. She would rather try to trigger some reflection from Louis who was not completely devoted of his own judgement when he could concentrate for more than a few seconds. She also knew well his weaknesses and played with them. Thus, even though it did not appear in the Court's audiences, balls and receptions where she would only show support, in their private moments, she kept trying to reason with Louis over certain topics that she, at least, had a clear opinion on. There was a time, when she was still a princess in Madrid, her vivid spirit and personality used to astonish greatly her parents and instructors, although her spark and strength of character was equally weighted by her pious nature that was nurtured by a strict religious education. That combination of intelligence with a very religious upbringing mixed with a strong sense of duty had made Anne who she was as a Queen, accepting all the difficulties and constraints of her life for a greater good.

Her faith and religious education might be the difference between her and Ninon, who seemed to be freer of catholic rites and beliefs and was seeking her own truths in her very own way. Ninon was also unmarried. By choice. Aware of these major differences, and maybe because of those differences Anne understood and sympathized strongly with the willingness of advancing the cause of women, Ninon was right about that. Her very life was a tale of all the inequalities that women had to face in the world, even amongst the highest circles of society. She had been a happy child. She wondered if her mother, who died when she was only 11, would have approved her betrothal that had been decided upon strict political reasons. Her marriage had been nothing but grey in more than a decade and a half. After the disastrous first night when Louis and her, merely more than children with little understanding of their teenage bodies, were forced to consume the wedding by direct orders of Marie de Medici, it took many years before Louis would even consider her a beddable consort again. Faith had been her guide during those years, and her solid temper had allowed her not show weakness. Only her bed sheets would know then of the tears she cried during those first years away from her family and country. Louis, on his side, maintaining a respectable façade, treated her according to the etiquette, appearing together in public and respecting the Court rules, visiting her daily morning and evening in her private chambers, bed her only to try to produce a heir. He had never been voluntarily mean to her, not truly unkind or rude, certainly not brutal, thank God, but he was too often indifferent to her. After so many years of marriage, there was no animosity and even a certain degree of dialogue and trust, but no real tenderness. Certainly not love. She was a neglected spouse, whether royal or not. She did not had a said about who she was going to marry, nor could she now do much about her bed life or her intimate pleasures. While she would have never even approaching these ideas when she was a young princess and later a young Queen, for being outrageously impious, age and experience have certainly changed her mind on so many things.

French women too, clearly: they were often bold when it would come to matters of the heart, love, passions, desires, flirting, courting, choices of life. Women like Ninon de Laroque.

So stepping up for Ninon had been important for her. She was in a hurry to bring the word of the King to the trial, that little help she had managed to extort from Louis, who by chance, did not believe at all either in witches nor Satan. Louis XIII was - give to Ceasar what is Ceasar - a pious man like her, but above religion Louis felt deeply he was the King of France and a man who would do anything for his nation and the state he was consolidating, interested in reason, progress and science.

These were the arguments Anne had advanced to convince him to minimize the judgement that was threatening Ninon's life in the worst form: burning at the stake. After going slowly into circles at the beginning, she had obtained a little victory, at least not to see the Countess executed horribly. She had convinced him that the time of burning witches was of a medieval past, not deign of his time and reign, and Louis had agreed. He did not like the Pope's envoyee anyway, nor the reasons for his visit and suspected that this man had somehow influenced his own personal counsellor the Cardinal. He would second the Cardinal, but not entirely. That was his way of affirming the King authority, and so not to face openly the Cardinal, he had sent Anne to bring his word.

It was not much, but when Queen Anne entered the trial room, alone, anticipating herself to the King, who was behind her, stalling before the announcement in order to not confront Richelieu himself, she felt pride. She was worried that she would be too late. She had taken the side of Ninon, the side of women. Ninon, who was on her knees, in front of all these men. Anne of Austria looked, as always, imperial in her impeccable dress, jewelry and collected hair that she knew reinforced the appearance of age and authority. As calmly as she could as she was in truth infuriated by the mere sight of the scene she stepped in, she announced with poise yet with an edge of contained anger that the King had decided that if the Comtesse should ever make a confession, it could never be out of torture, and if she did not confess freely of what she was accused of, she could not be sentenced to death. That was the limited reach of her power within her couple and as Queen, but she used it all. And the King's word would rule. Ninon would not die.

When Anne had finished her declaration she offered Ninon her own hand and arm to help her on her feet again and hopefully convey some support and strength.

It was then when she noticed the glimmer of a jewel that she had never seen before on the Comtesse before, who was quite frugal concerning that part of her appearance. She recognized it instantly. It was the cross she offered to Aramis a few months ago. Her heart and her mind bumped at such realisation, and her expression grew stunned in a second. The end of the trial even seemed to her a little bit of a blur, the sentence, the Cardinal choking, Aramis and Treville racing to help him, the guards taking Ninon back to her cell. Every other argument in her mind had faded away. She was stunned, but not by the final judgement. And that in itself was as appalling to her as the feeling that was invading her entire body, soul and mind. How was it possible, that in the midst of everything that was happening, in that fight that she had considered so important during the last 48 hours, the only question she could seem to concentrate on now was why was that cross on Ninon's chest?

Her cross, the precious cross from her childhood she gave to Aramis, on Ninon's chest.


	2. Chapter 3-4

_**Sorry everyone I forgot to say that the story would continue, a little. There will be a final chapter after these two more introspective ones and the introductory ones. The whole idea of this psychological fic was about that moment in the episode where Anne tells with a certain feeling Aramis that she was not expecting to see the cross on some other woman's chest. Oh, I thought, so she had expectations. She felt the right to ask him. She feared the Comtesse was his lover. Oh that is so Jealousy! It must have cost her, and yet she did it, probably could not resist it, even if she tried. Or maybe it was not her intent, yet it still came that way? So, building up... we're getting there.**_

 _ **Thanks for reading it and dropping a review. I'm always so happy after reading them! :)**_

 **3\. Owning your burdens is half the battle**

She felt her own chest shrinking; a wave of doubt, hurt, of betrayal, anger, even all these mixed feelings seemed to assault could not find a valid answer to why Ninon was now in possession of her own cross. Why, why would Aramis give her that cross? Had it so little value to him?

She needed to calm herself. She needed to start reasoning accordingly to her rank and education. " _Owning your burdens is half the battle_ ", was the motto of her tutor in Madrid, she reminded him saying it so often, and has used it quite often, like now, to understand herself, always striving to become a better person on the base of that understanding.

She inhaled deeply, and asked one of the nuns who had kept by her side to take to some place so she could pray privately for both the Cardinal and Ninon. At least keep the appearance Anne, she thought to herself. God, not only was she feeling extremely troubled, she was also now lying to a nun.

The sisters took her to one of the small chapels of the Monastery, dedicated to St Anthony of Padua. She was glad it was summer, that place, by the river, must be so humid and cold during the other seasons. Right now though, she welcomed the fresh air that permeated the room, as it seemed to bring some sense back into her mind, if not in her heart yet. She needed to examine in detail what had just happened during those last minutes.

She first sat close to the painting of St Anthony depicted in awe looking at baby Jesus, and found a little solace thinking of Christ, who, in all circumstances seem to warm her soul. She kneeled then, in the privacy of the chapel illuminated with candles and the quiet presence of one of the nuns, and started praying, learned prayers, to Mary, and when she had the impression that she had reached a semblance of quiet, she whispered Our Father before engaging in a more personal reflexion.

"… _and forgive us our trespasses_

 _as we forgive those who trespasses against us_

 _and lead us not in temptation_

 _but deliver us from Evil. Amen_."

As she finished saying the words, the words forgiving and temptation seem, for some reason to be the ones she needed to reflect upon.

Seeing that personal gift she gave to Aramis on Ninon troubled her to such anxiety, in just seconds. Even now, after the prayer, trying to face the questions as she was taught, with reason and morals, she still could not stop her mind and her heart racing.

Why? How? Didn't Aramis understood the value of her gift?

What was truly the value of such gift? Was it different for her that it was for him? And was she expecting him to value it like her?

If anyone would look it from outside, it should have been just a reward for saving her life. She rewarded other subjects for other reasons, with other gifts. It should not be personal. Royal business.

So why did it feel so personal?

Because he save her life, more than once now.

Because Aramis, which handsome figure and friendly face seemed to attract her glance whenever he would pass by. He carried that warmth in him, an easiness and openness that she was sensing in all moments. She had heard that he was from Spanish origins, and she wondered if this common origin was also one of the reasons she was so interested about him, looking out for him, a connection to her past life. Was she wrong to believe that he felt something for her, that he regarded her as a woman and not only as a Queen?

" _A woman and not only as a Queen?"_ is that really what she had just thought?

Looking backwards at the last months, she had a feeling, she could not deny it. Those minutes in the Chatelêt had been a revelation on so many things. And more recently, the sight of Aramis, kissing her cross after jumping over an explosive artefact who by the grace of God did not explode, watching her intently, as if his life was in Gods, but also her hands? As if he would gladly do anything for her?

She knew, or maybe she wanted to believe that Aramis had felt that connection too. Had she been that naïve? After all, she also heard that the Musketeer Aramis was quite the charmer. Being an infant, and later a Queen had helped her develop some eavesdropping skills. The name of Aramis would come more than often in the Courtisanes and even servants' conversations. Could that explain why her cross was now in possession of the Comtesse? Was she now the new conquest of Aramis? A beautiful woman needless to be said.

Those sneaky thoughts were steering in her guts, and Anne realised that such displeasure did not resemble anything she may have felt before. She did not like the idea of Aramis with another woman.

Could it be? No. It couldn't. She was married, to the King of France. She was the Queen. She was a faithful wife. She meant each of her wedding vows, and has respected each of them so far. Why was she thinking that? What was it that she thought she was feeling? It could not be.

Jealousy.

Jealousy was a lower, dangerous feeling.

All religious teachings condemned it, but also modern enlightened voices, Monsieur de La Rochefoucauld* the new writer in vogue had recently described jealousy to one of the most serious wrongs you can do to other people you love.

Love.

There cannot be jealousy if there is no love, but…

She did not love Aramis. Didn't she? That was impossible.

Well, she certainly cared for him. That was true. She did worry for him that day at the market with the bomb, when she heard Porthos shouting "Aramis, noo!", as if he was in danger mortal. It is true, she felt her heart jumped that day at the thought of Aramis dead. The image of him kissing the cross and watching her, as if everything was perfect, as if he was grateful for life, and even after such danger, happy, content.

That image was in her heart. She knew it now.

So that was it.

She cared for him as a loyal servant.

Affection at most, that could be it.

But then, other words came to her mind, from a play wrote by a courtisane, and one of the characters saying that " _only Jealousy had taught him to be in love_." **

She felt herself paling at the understanding of what might truly be going on. 

**4\. Confession is half remission**

Jealousy. And a certain infatuation maybe with a handsome musketeer?

She had never felt jealous of Louis.

Even when Louis would openly flirt with other women, the feeling she mostly felt was humiliation, disgust for the lack of respect he would display towards his royal consort publicly. She deserved better. She had felt angry at Louis. But jealousy? She could not recall once that she felt jealousy over Louis.

Louis was her husband, yet, she never ever felt that heated disturbance she was feeling now. The need to confront Aramis and to know exactly what was happening between him and Ninon. As if it was her right to ask. As if he had the obligation to answer.

No, it could not be.

She couldn't be jealous of a man over another woman for another man that was not her husband.

Oh… and if she was, how could she ever ask him what Ninon was to him? She was the Queen. She should not bring herself so low.

God how she wished sometimes to be a French born and raised. She had seen it, through her years at Court, that quite many of the French ladies did not seem to feel the heavy weight of the catholic self-restraint chains. These women had some freedom when it came to affairs of the heart. Many of them had lovers. They had boring old husbands and young passionate lovers. As if there was no contradiction or hypocrisy in the situation. There were stories of treasons and revenge, of passion and lust. Stories she had not been very much interested about.

Not until now. Now….

So that is what it felt to be jealous? An impending need to confront the person about the situation, the doubt about the bound between that person and yourself, the need to be reassured that we are the one who matters more.

Oh… it was true, jealousy was a sinful, ugly feeling. Jealousy she had been taught was more about passion and lust and selfish love than about a sincere honest affection.

She should feel ashamed. Maybe a part of her was a little ashamed.

But above all that, she was feeling the need to know, more than anything else. She needed to placate the question in her heart. So here it was, despite her religious education, despite her being the Queen of France, despite all the pious principles ingrained in her since she was born, hovering inside her was a sheer feeling of jealousy at the idea that Aramis could be involved with another woman.

And when the thought finished to form in her head, it is when for the first time in a very long time, in many years, she felt extraordinarily alive. That feeling of jealousy felt strangely, achingly exquisite. It was not pure, it was not pious, it was not even worthy of her royal nature. But it was incredibly real. It was heating her up. Like the excitement she felt after the Chatelêt events. It was moving her, stirring her from inside.

She knew she had no right, and now she knew it was wrong, but that is precisely what she was feeling if she was honest to herself, and kneeling there, by a Cross and the image of the Saint, she could not lie to herself, and she knew there was no hiding from God's understanding of what is in our hearts.

So she resumed praying again, knowing now, what is it that she needed to confess.

That is not something she could ever confess to a priest, not even in the secret of confession. She was not that naïve, the Cardinal's men and ears were everywhere, and such admission could bring the "spanish Queen" to her lost.

But she could at least confess to her Lord, hoping that the French said that " _Faute avouée est à moitié pardonnée_ " (Sin confessed is half remissed) would be true.


End file.
